Take Two!
by Jemmiah
Summary: Important scenes from the films...with a slight twist!
1. Default Chapter

**The Gungan Swamps**

"Master!"Obi-Wan called out over the comlink as he fled through the forest. "I'm having a really bad day. I've got these droid things chasing me and…"

"You've fried your lightsabre _again,_ haven't you!" Qui-Gon challenged him, trying desperately to rid himself of the exceedingly tiresome Gungan hanger-on that trailed behind him.

"Er…" Obi-Wan hesitated.

"You _have_, haven't you?" Qui-Gon repeated.

"Yes, I'm afraid I have. Could you give me some help here, master?"

Qui-Gon sighed. There were occasions when he despaired of that boy. He was twenty-five years old and he still managed to forget simple things like routine sabre maintenance. Sith knew what kind of master he'd eventually make…

"Oh, I suppose so. Hang on a moment." Jinn gritted his teeth as his hand went to the lightsabre by his belt. "Don't do it again!"

"Master, they're…er, getting a lot closer." Obi-Wan persisted.

"Yes, I can see them. Wait a minute and I'll…oh, blast."

"What is it?"

Qui-Gon looked down at his own fried lightsabre and gulped.

"How fast do you think you can run, padawan?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"I suggest it's time you find out…padawan? _Hello?"_

Jinn snorted with annoyance as his apprentice got blasted into oblivion. That was typical of Obi-Wan. He'd spent twelve years looking after him and he'd repaid him by getting himself splattered all over the swamps of Naboo. Irritably, Qui-Gon slapped his useless lightsabre down by his side.

A green beam of light suddenly flared into life.

"Well, would you look at that," he said in surprise, "It was working all the time. Whoops!"

* * *

**Mos Espa  
**

Qui-Gon looked listened intently to his padawan as the rich, smooth tones informed him of what he had already known at heart.

They were stuffed.

"So, we've nothing to bargain with?"

"Nope."

"What about the Queen's wardrobe?"

"Captain Panaka says you're taking that over his dead body." Obi-Wan's eyes twinkled. "He really likes the black, feathery number. Infact he's been wearing it ever since you left."

"Ah…the heat does funny things to people, padawan."

"If you say so, master. But there's nothing like the amount onboard the ship that we need. Nothing for you to barter with."

"An idea will present itself, never fear…"

Qui-Gon pursed his lips.

"Master? Are you still there?"

"What? Oh, yes…I've had an idea. Do you think you could make it into Mos Espa?"

"Why?" Obi-Wan became a little suspicious.

"Well, I thought that maybe we could solve our little financial difficulties by selling you into slavery. What do you think?"

"M-m-master?" Kenobi stammered.

"Don't worry about it. I'd make sure you got a good owner. Someone who'd only beat and kick you a few times a day, nothing drastic."

"Master, I'm supposed to take my trials in a few years." Kenobi gulped. "I have an unofficial girlfriend of sorts! What's she going to say about this?"

"Oh, she can find somebody else. If she hasn't already." Qui-Gon smirked.

"But I'm your padawan!"

"Ah…I've been meaning to speak to you about that." Qui-Gon laughed nervously. "You see, I've met this boy. I have a hunch that he might well be the chosen one and so I thought you might like to do the honerable thing and step down, you know? For the greater good of the galaxy."

"But…" Kenobi started to say.

"I knew you'd agree." Qui-Gon smiled happily. "Well done that man. You're a good sport Obi-Wan. Actually, I have someone who's interested in buying you. His name's Watto. I know you are going to get on just perfectly…

* * *

**The Trouble with Midichlorians  
**

"Obi-Wan, I want you to do a midi-chlorian test." Qui-Gon spoke into the comlink in a hushed voice.  
"Sure, just give me a moment or two master…ah, here it is."

Jinn almost ground his teeth in anticipation. Wait 'til the council heard about this!

"Well?"

"Well what?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Am I right? Is it true? The boy has the highest concentration of midi-chlorians ever seen in a life form? Is he the chosen one?"

"Master…"

"I am right, aren't I?" He grinned. "This'll alter Windu's constipated expression!"

"Master…"

"Yoda will eat his own stick because I'm just so darned clever!"

"Master…the boy hasn't got two midi-chlorians to rub together." Obi-Wan replied joyously as he studied the readings before him.

Pause.

"Are you sure?"

"Certain, master." Obi-Wan said, crossing his fingers as he spoke.

"Oh, kriffit!" swore Qui-Gon irritably.

"He does have an interesting…er, medical complaint which I would say was genetic, probably passed on from his mother. As long as you stay away from her you should be all right…"

**Long pause.**

"Master?"

**_Very _long pause.**

"Are you still there, master?"

* * *

**So Long, Farewell…  
**

"Oh, Anni…it's wonderful!" Shmi half gasped, pride glowing in her eyes at her son's achievements. She'd steeled herself to watch during the race, found the courage from somewhere…yet all the time that worry was at the back of her mind. What if her son was killed? What would have happened then?

Thankfully, her precocious offspring had proven himself a worthy champion. Sebulba's name was mud now and then there was this wonderful amount of money that Anakin had just dropped into her hands.

"Now I can make my dreams come true!" she giggled.

"Mom? Sorry, I don't understand? What dreams?"

Qui-Gon knelt down by the fair-haired boy and ruffled his hair.

"Your mother is no longer a slave. She has been freed! She'll be coming back to Coruscant with myself and my apprentice."

"That's fantastic…wait a moment." Anakin scrunched up his face. "I'll be going too, won't I?"

"I'm sorry, Anni. I tried to free you but Watto wouldn't have it."

Qui-Gon looked at Shmi.

"Are you packed?"

"And ready!" grinned the dark haired woman. "All those stars…I'm going to be the first one to see them all! _Yippeeeee!_"

"But mom," Anakin's lip went all wobbly, "will I ever see you again?"

Shmi stared at him as if he had grown an extra head.

"You must be joking! Nine years of looking after you? I think I'm due a little fun, isn't that right Master Jinn?"

"Precisely." Qui-Gon gave Shmi a peck on the cheek. "Come on, let's go!"

Anakin trailed his mother out onto the streets and watched in disbelief as she took Qui-Gon's arm.

"He's following us." Qui-Gon said in annoyance.

_"Shhh!"_ Shmi hurried her step. "Don't look back!"

* * *

**The Naboo Ship  
**

"Now stay out of trouble." Obi-Wan said briskly as he left Jar Jar in the hold with the droids. That _thing_ was beginning to get on his nerves. There was something strange about a creature that could that use its own tongue to lasso food from a plate. A neat trick, certainly, but not the sort of thing that Coruscant society would approve of. They thought the Jedi were weird enough without seeing them scale a building using lip suction only...

He was about to close the door behind him when he got an idea…

Qui-Gon frowned.

He could be wrong but he felt as if Obi-Wan wasn't really getting along with everyone else in the party. He just wasn't making the effort or pulling his weight: instead he was moping about miserably with a rather constipated expression on his face. The master decided that maybe he ought to have a word with his padawan on matters of politeness and unacceptable laziness. He couldn't afford to let him slip up now.

"Padawan." Qui-Gon said.

"Oh, It's you. What do you want?" Obi-Wan sulked.

"I wanted to have a little chat."

"We had that when I was thirteen." Kenobi pouted.

"No…not _that_ one." Jinn sighed. "Look there's no easy way of saying this, padawan, but I can't help but feel as if you don't really like anyone else on the ship. Now why would that be?"

"That's not true, master!" Kenobi protested before his smile cracked into a devilish grin. "I think the queen's a right little raver!"

"Hmmm. I'm not sure that's quite how you address the monarch, even in these enlightened and liberal days." Qui-Gon mused. "What about Jar Jar?"

"Him?" Obi-Wan shrugged. "He's just a pathetic lifeform. Why should I care about that Gungan nonentity?"

"Padawan!" scolded Qui-Gon. "Show some respect!"

Obi-Wan pulled a face.

"You aren't doing your share around here. You've had the handmaidens…"

"I have _not_!"

"…let me finish." Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. "You've had the handmaidens doing the maintenance on the ship!"

"There's no such thing as a free ride, not even for the queen of Naboo." Obi-Wan pronounced.

"I'm beginning to worry about you, padawan." Jinn pondered as they headed through to the kitchen prep unit. "I think you might be showing dark side tendencies."

Obi-Wan shrugged and picked up a tray.

"Look, I am sorry you think I'm not pulling my weight around here. And I am not going over to the darkside."

Qui-Gon nodded as he and Obi-Wan wandered through to speak with Panaka and Amidala.

"Where's Jar Jar?" The Queen asked imperious monotone.

"I've got no idea." Obi-Wan picked a glass of the tray and offered it to her.

"Orange goo, anyone?"

* * *

**The Chosen One  
**

"Master…"

"Obi-Wan, I've told you before."

"But Master, this is just a farce! The council will not go along with this!"

"And why is that?" Qui-Gon tugged impatiently on his beard. Why did Obi-Wan always have to question his every motive? Why could he not just trust him for once?

"He's…he's…" Kenobi spluttered, searching for the right words.

"Too old?"

"Well, yes he is! But that was _not _what I was about to say and you know it! Master, the council will take one look at him and laugh!"

"No they won't."

"They will!"

"Obi-Wan, please. I must do what I must."

"And so must I…and right now I must tell you that this is the biggest mistake of your life!" Obi-Wan sighed, knowing that Qui-Gon was utterly unmoveable on this one. "Please. Reconsider this time before we go in and face total humiliation."

"He _is_ the chosen one. Why can't you see it?"

Obi-Wan groaned and let his shoulders slump.

"I'm going to find a wall to thump my head off repeatedly." He muttered, walking behind Qui-Gon as they made their way to the council chambers.

* * *

"Master Qui-Gon?" Yoda peered up at him, surprised. "Something more you have to say?"  
"Yes." 

Jinn walked forward, steering the bewildered figure into the centre of the circle so that all the jedi could take a good look at him. One by one mouths began to drop as they leaned forward, staring.

"I request that this Gungan be trained as a jedi."

* * *

**Master and Apprentice  
**

"Master!" Obi-Wan hurried to the prone figure of his mentor, not wanting to think…to even countenance the idea that this was the end. After all these years together as master and padawan, father and son in many ways. To loose Qui-Gon like this…

_No._ He would not believe it.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon raised his blue eyes to meet those of his padawan, pain filled and exhausted with the struggle to keep going that little bit longer so that he could say what needed to be said.

Kenobi listened intently to his master's words, the grief threatening to render their meanings senseless…. wait a moment. What was that?

Train the boy? _Him?_

"C-could you run that one past me again, master?"

"He _is_ the chosen one…" Qui-Gon gasped. "Train him."

Obi-Wan looked indignantly at his fading master.

"Is that it?" he yelled. "Twelve years of my life and all I get is _'train the boy'_? No 'Goodbye, my dear apprentice,' or 'you've been a wonderful padawan, I'm really sorry to be leaving you behind?' All you can say is _'train the boy_?' Thank you _very _much!"

"Listen…Obi-Wan. The boy is…"

"Yeah, yeah. The chosen one. I've heard it all before." Obi-Wan growled.

"Then you will train…?"

Kenobi sniffed.

"S'pose so…"

With considerable relief, Qui-Gon took the opportunity to die right then and there, which Obi-Wan thought was very ungrateful.

"This changes matters somewhat." Obi-Wan frowned, letting Qui-Gon's head fall back against the ground with an undignified thunk. "But with a little bit of careful thought…"

Obi-Wan sat back on his haunches, and then grinned.

* * *

"Well, Obi-Wan. You're a padawan no longer." Mace congratulated the young man by clapping him on the back. "If only your master was here to see it." 

"Here in spirit, he is." Yoda smiled.

"Where?" Obi-Wan jumped and looked madly about him.

Windu laughed.

"Calm down. You're so jumpy. When Yoda said he was here in spirit I'm sure he meant…" Mace stopped as he stared at some small movement out the corner of his eye. "What is that?"

Each member of the council turned round to see the figure of a young blonde boy wiping at the windows with a dirty rag.

"That is young Skywalker. I told Qui-Gon I'd see he was trained and I've fulfilled my part of the bargain. I've got him a job as an apprentice window cleaner." Obi-Wan walked over to the glass and banged a couple of times to get his attention.

"You've missed a bit." He pointed as Anakin started to furiously rub at the window.

"But he's the Chosen One…" Depa Billaba stated.

"Oh yeah?" Obi-Wan's face lit up underneath his three-day-old beard.

"I didn't choose him."

* * *

**The Apartment**

Obi-Wan's senses were stretched in all directions, searching for any disturbance in the force or telltale ripple that might alert him to possible trouble. The attack on senator Amidala had, not surprisingly, left a subdued feeling amongst the former Queen's personnel. Even the R2 Unit seemed distinctly pensive for an astro-droid.

It appeared to be catching by all accounts, if Anakin's brooding visage was anything to go by. Troubled by bad dreams and plagued by his unguarded childish adoration for Padme - not that Obi-Wan could blame him - Anakin seemed edgy and even tenser than he had been in the elevator. Perhaps, Obi-Wan wondered with a brief smile, he was the only one calm enough to think rationally.

He'd tried to explain this to Anakin but his padawan seemed unable to listen: either that or he simply did not want to. In order to be at his most alert a Jedi had to be relaxed and at peace with himself so that he might best understand the will of the force, and harness it for his own use. But Anakin seemed content to mope, and Obi-Wan did not fancy lecturing him needlessly at the cost of his own breath.

Anakin was so darned confident! Overconfident, perhaps. He was so convinced his own abilities and superior skill would see him through that he was prepared to take ridiculous risks at the cost of other people. He sighed to himself, shaking his head as he did so. There had to be a middle ground, surely? Maybe he should lighten up on Anakin?

Perhaps Anakin should tone down his constant chaffing against authority?

"Fat chance." Obi-Wan muttered, folding his arms and walking up to the tall figure of his apprentice.

Anakin barely raised his eyes to acknowledge him.

"What's going on?" Frowned Obi-Wan, nodding at the security holocam which currently appeared to be registering nothing but empty space.

"She turned it off." Anakin's voice seemed strangely petulant. "I don't think she liked the idea of me watching her in the nude. Or the shower. Or in the bedroom."

"Hardly surprising." Kenobi felt obliged to point out. "You have a nasty habit of staring at people from underneath your brows. It gives the impression you're going to choke them to death."

"You make me sound like a pervert, master!" Protested Anakin, before adding, "I think she could have been more grateful. I wouldn't have stared at her too much whilst she was undressing. After all it was my brilliant idea to allow the assassin to try and kill her, thus allowing us to jump on him and find out who was behind the attempt on Padme's life at the landing platform. And then I would be the hero of the day and then she'd kiss me…and stuff."

"It's the 'and stuff' she probably has issues with." Obi-Wan remarked wryly. "So, you're using her as bait?"

"She agreed." Sulked Anakin. "Well, okay…it _was_ her idea. But it was my idea to program R2 to alert us to any danger."

"I don't like it." Kenobi replied, uncomfortable with the idea of putting senator Amidala's life in danger whilst under the Jedi's protection. "It's too risky. Besides which, your senses aren't fully attuned."

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

In the background there were two screams followed by a dull thud of something hitting the ground.

"You see!" Obi-Wan shouted as they ran to the bedroom in where Padme's body lay. "Why do you _never _listen to me!"

**

* * *

Tusken Camp**

Anakin stood motionless beside the thin walls of the Tusken hut, lightsabre raised, ready for any trouble that might come his way. He knew where his mother was…he could sense her; just as he had sensed her in his troubled dreams more than half the galaxy away. All that stood between them were the thin wattle and daub walls and the animal skins that comprised the little shelter. One swing of the sabre and they would be reunited.

Shmi had once asked him if he believed he would see her again. Anakin had replied yes, although at the time there had been more than a hint of wanting to believe it rather than truly feeling that deep down it would be so. And now, after over ten years had passed, here he was.

He'd tried to imagine this moment again and again in his mind, daydreaming and hoping that one day his dearest wish might come true. Obi-Wan had been sympathetic but could never really hope to understand: how could he? He was a Jedi; trained from the cradle or infancy to form no deep bonds or strong attachments, or owe any allegiance to those except the order they served. Even Qui-Gon's death had been put behind him with unbelievable speed. At the time Anakin had thought it strange, but now he could see why the Jedi chose to renounce personal devotion to other beings. Such feelings overwhelmed and clouded judgement.

Yet was it so selfish to want to save his own mother?

_Was_ it?

Obi-Wan must surely have had a mother - unless he'd been hatched rather than born. Did he have no memory of her? Did he never wonder who she was, or if she was still alive? Did he ever see her in his dreams? Or wonder in what circumstances he had been brought to the temple? Anakin hoped that his master would understand why he had left Naboo with Padme and travelled to Tatooine. Or that if he did not he would at least forgive him in time.

His mother was in pain. But he would soon rescue her and set her free of her suffering. He dreaded to see the damage the Tuskens had done. Cleig Lars was missing a leg: several of his party had been killed. These people were savage: insatiable in their lust for mayhem and cruelty. But she was alive…Anakin could feel it! And no matter what happened he would free her.

He steadied his breath, then pierced the walls of the tent with his lightsabre, twisting the blade so that the swept around in a circular arc. An acrid smell of burned animal skins met his nostrils as the blade turned. As Anakin deactivated his sabre and stepped through the tent he tripped over a hard object lying on the floor and went sprawling forward.

"Mom?" Anakin called out, looking around him for any trace of his mother. "It's me! It's Anakin! Where are you?"

He looked down at his feet, and then realised that the object he had tripped over was the inert body of his mother who, it appeared, he had accidentally decapitated whilst lightsabring his way into the tent through the thin walls of the tent…

"Oops." Anakin gulped.

**

* * *

****Across the Stars  
**

_**TATOOINE, After the funeral: **_

"Padme, why do you keep pressing the same button?" Anakin asked curiously. "I mean, is it an all-purpose button? Does it fire up rockets, relay messages, lift the ship off the ground and make the tea?"

"I thought you were too frightened to tease a senator?" Padme replied sharply. "The other Jedi will never reach Obi-Wan in time. Neither will we if we stop to talk about how the ship operates. I am going to help Obi-Wan. If you want to protect me you'll just have to come along."

Anakin grinned. This was his kind of female! Strong, beautiful, determined...and wearing a rather revealing all-in-one white jumpsuit. He was perfectly happy to stick with Padme (or stick to her). Still, he'd much rather be the one flying the ship. Watching as Padme hit the all-purpose it-does-everything button, Anakin got a very bad feeling...

Much to Anakin's surprise nothing initially seemed to go wrong. In fact Padme seemed to be that rarest of rare things: a competent female pilot. Girls just didn't have that drive - that edge - that flying required. They were too busy thinking about dark curly hair and dreamy eyes to be able to call on the necessary amounts of concentration needed to pilot a ship properly. There were lots of things that girls could do well, but their genetics were against them. Padme was intelligent, there was no question of that, but she was wasted as a senator. Such beauty should be gazed at adoringly all day, just as he had when they'd picnicked in the meadow on Naboo, frolicking and rolling in the tall grass.

Padme had been good for a roll.

"So you can fly a ship." Anakin attempted to make conversation as the craft left the planet's atmosphere. "What else can you do?"

"I'm not telling you." Padme winked at him. "That would ruin the surprise."

"The real test is whether you can make the tea." Anakin pretended to be unimpressed. "That's what girls do best, isn't it?"

Padme's eyes darkened dramatically as she stabbed angrily at the multi-purpose button with her index finger. Suddenly the cockpit light pulsed red, and the padawan got swift insight into the reason for his bad feeling.

"Er, Padme?" Anakin gulped softly. "That button. It's wouldn't double as the self-destruct, would it?"

The numbers began to tick down on the cockpit monitor by way of a reply.

"Damned women drivers!" Anakin growled angrily, seconds before the ship blew itself sky high, scattering its atoms across the stars…


	2. Chapter 2

**The Arena  
****  
**

"What about Padme?" Anakin demanded, his throat suddenly dry.

"She seems to be on top of things." Replied Obi-Wan with a quick glance over his shoulder towards the senator in her tight little white number, wriggling her way up to the top of the pillar.

Anakin blinked. "That's rude, master!"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Look, stay focused…"

The gates suddenly started to crank open, accompanied by a terrible squealing noise. Slowly, inexorably, the metal bars raised to reveal three large and sinister shapes silhouetted against the dark background of the tunnel. Obi-Wan felt his eyes instantly drawn towards the largest of the three creatures, it's wicked gleaming gimlet eyes and nasty, pointed teeth aimed straight in his direction. The second of the two loped towards Anakin with its head lowered, ready to charge.

Up on the terrace Dooku looked on at the scene with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He turned to face one of the termite guards who had, in his own insectoid way, the grace to look faintly embarrassed.

"What is this?" Nute Gunray bellowed in Dooku's ear. "This is _supposed_ to be an execution!"

"Click-click-click." Replied the termite with a shrug. "Clickkkk-clikk-cliiikkk-click."

"What did he say?" Gunray demanded.

"He says it was the best he could do at short notice." Dooku thinned his lips, greatly displeased. "The pet emporium was clean out of Nexu. The Acklay they sold them ate the Reek and then promptly died of chronic indigestion. So they had to improvise."

"And _this_," Gunray waved his arms in a flourish of unbridled fury, "is their idea of a replacement? I want Senator Amidala's head on my desk! Shoot her...or something! Do _anything_! She's making a fool of us all!"

"Click-click-clickkkity." Huffed the termite.

"He says these three rabbits are extremely vicious when provoked." Dooku didn't look entirely convinced. "And that they have been assured that they are famous killers!"

"What are their names?" Gunray snapped. "And why haven't I heard of them?"

Dooku chewed fretfully at his lip. "Flopsy, Fluffy and Flossy…"****

Gunray held his hands up in the air, despairing. "My Lord, your 'trained killers' aren't interested! They're not even nibbling their tunics! Look - Senator Amidala is petting the white one with the twitchy nose! She's making fun of us!"

"Patience, my friend. Patience! She will die." The count attempted to placate the separatist leader. "As will the Jedi. I have a plan that will most assuredly work."

Dooku turned to the termite, who brought himself smartly to attention.

"Tell Poggle to halt the executions whilst we dress Kenobi and his friends as carrots, would you?"

* * *

**Say it with Flowers: Buy her a Sarlacc  
**

Padme screeched as the transport lurched, throwing her straight out the side and down into the sandy dunes below. She hit the ground with an oomph; air being knocked out of her body at the sudden, forceful contact of ground against flesh. Badly winded, the senator rolled and rolled…and then for good measure rolled some more.

Anakin yelled her name, but it was to no avail.

"Padme!" He screamed, his voice hoarse with anxiety. The padawan turned, holding onto the support straps for all he was worth, barking an order to the clone commander. "Turn the ship round!"

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan was beyond merely lecturing the young man this time. Why did he never listen? "Don't be ridiculous! If we capture Dooku we can end this war. We can take him together - I need you!"

"I don't care!" Anakin screeched back, eyes blazing. After all they had gone through there was nobody, not even Obi-Wan, who could order him to brush Padme aside as if of no consequence. "Turn the ship round!"

"You will be expelled from the Jedi order!" Kenobi barked back, desperation tingeing his words.

"I can't leave her!"

Obi-Wan was not about to have his authority undermined this time. For too long he'd put up with Anakin's constant questioning and carping, always hinting that he could make better decisions than his master…that he was quicker, smarter and faster at everything from using a lightsabre to doing the morning crossword puzzle. He'd once challenged him to knit a Nerf's wool sweater in less than two days. Obi-Wan had to admit that Anakin had indeed finished faster than he had, although he'd felt obliged to point out that the garment usually had only two arms instead of three. And also a hole for the neck…

"Come to your senses!" Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, the wind whipping his hair across his face. "What do you think Padme would do?"

Anakin swallowed. "She would do her duty."

"Precisely. Now don't worry about her. I'm sure she'll be absolutely fine. And you know that I am never wrong about these matters, my extremely young, incredibly annoying padawan learner. A woman who has taken on a Nexu, won back her own planet against the trade federation and battled ferocious, monstrous politicians? Other than the coarse and rough sand getting everywhere what has a smart young lady like Senator Amidala got to worry about?"

Padme continued to roll. She didn't know why, except that it looked more dramatic that way. At first she'd done it in the hope that Anakin would be as gallant as he pretended and jump out to rescue her, but it seemed he was all talk and no action (something the Jedi seemed awfully good at) and had flown off into the distance to pick a fight with Dooku. No good would come of it, she thought with a sigh as she bounced down the sand dunes, for he would only do something stupid like losing an arm or get crushed under a giant pillar. And then where would her plans for a wedding be?

Deciding her artistic efforts at rolling had come to naught with nobody there to witness it Padme allowed herself to come to the bottom of the slope with one final thud…then lay there for a moment. Damn Jedi! Why hadn't Anakin come back? So much for true love! After a few seconds of pretending to be badly hurt for no reason at all Padme attempted to roll to her feet…

Then fell backwards into the giant Sarlacc pit just behind her.

* * *

**Tortured Visions  
**

"I told you, Anakin!" The Chancellor lay on the ground amidst the fragments of broken window, backed up against the wall. "The Jedi are plotting to take over!"

Anakin looked uncertainly between Mace Windu and Palpatine, the latter cowering and gibbering in a distinctly undignified manner. Windu looked stern and determined, advancing step by step upon the seemingly helpless Chancellor.

"Don't kill me!" Palpatine begged. "I'm an old man! Honestly! I make donations to charity…I help little old ladies across the road. I'm nice to kittens! Anakin, help me!"

Anakin was clearly torn. The visions he'd been suffering from had tormented him for months, there was simply no getting away from them. On one hand he'd fought all his life on behalf of the Jedi. On the other there was the problem that he'd confided in Palpatine all his little secrets - all the things he couldn't confide to Obi-Wan - about Padme, about his dreams…

He shuddered. Whatever happened he would not let those visions come true.

"Well," Palpatine glared at Anakin, "Aren't you going to insist that I should be taken alive and stand trial in the senate?"

"He's too dangerous to be kept alive!" Windu growled, waving his lightsabre in menacing fashion at Palpatine. "He _has _to die!"

Anakin sighed. "He's right, I'm afraid." He walked over to the startled Palpatine, picked him up and set him on his feet, momentarily dusting him down. "I can't let my visions come true. Sorry." And with that he hurled him forward out of the window, listening as the Chancellor's screams were snatched from him as he fell.

Mace deactivated the purple blade of his sabre.

"Well done, young Skywalker." He clapped Anakin appreciatively on the shoulder. "You did the right thing."

Anakin thought briefly of Padme, and the dreams he'd had of her death in childbirth. Then he thought of the other truly horrific visions he'd had and gave a mental shrug. If Padme had to go, then so be it.

"It wasn't difficult." Anakin rubbed wearily at his face. "For the last few weeks I've been plagued by horrible dreams. I've seen disturbing visions of celebrations, and fireworks, and trees and…_Ewoks_." Mace grimaced in sympathy. "This was my chance to stop it from coming true! Now most of us can live happily ever after! You've still got both your hands, Obi-Wan doesn't have to live his life as an unwashed hobo in a desert, I don't have to get deep fried, Jar-Jar can get elected as the next Chancellor and the words Yub-Yub don't have to get mentioned! Oh, by the way," Anakin smiled brightly as they walked back through the Chancellor's study, "I suppose the title of Jedi Master is out of the question?"

* * *

**Order Sixty-six-ish  
**

Palpatine's image flickered momentarily, the ghostly blue holo resolving itself into an evil leer, which caused the clone trooper to take an involuntary step back. It was unmistakably the face of the Chancellor, that much was certain, but boy - he must have been hitting the drink heavily in the last few weeks if the lines and wrinkles on his face were anything to judge by. The workload had obviously taken its toll on the poor man. Talk about a bad hair day…

"Execute order…." Growled Palpatine menacingly, his voice cut off by a sudden burst of static.

He'd had too many cigaras, too, by the sound of it. Several thousand more than he should have.

"My Lord, I didn't catch that. Could you repeat?"

Palpatine, his eyes flaring menacingly, repeated his orders with all the warmth of a glacial storm on Hoth. No sound at all was forth coming this time.

"Audio contact is lost, my lord." Cody shook his head. "Please transmit your order visually."

The kind of visual clues that Palpatine treated poor Cody to were not particularly enlightening except to demonstrate his displeasure. Then finally when the Chancellor had calmed down he held up what appeared to be a flimsyplast card with two numbers written upon it.

After a moment of confusion the startled Commander Cody stood smartly to attention.

"It shall be done, my lord." He nodded to the holo image.

As Palpatine's dissipated and dishevelled face winked out of existence the trooper sighed. Here he was in the middle of battle, fighting alongside his fellow clones, and suddenly he was in charge of executing very strange and bewildering orders that seemed totally irrelevant to the winning of a war. Still, his was not to reason why but to do as Palpatine had ordered, baffling as it seemed…

He turned to his identical clone brother to give him his instructions.

"Execute order 99." Commander Cody insisted.

"But sir?" The clone tugged the helmet from his head. "Order 99? Are you certain?"

"I think that was what the Chancellor said." Cody frowned, wondering if he wasn't perhaps number dyslexic in some way. "Just inform the other commanders via the holo transmitters that order 99 is to be carried out with immediate effect."

"Yes, sir." The clone nodded before hurrying away.

Some moments later General Kenobi, riding some kind of giant native lizard, scurried into view.

"I think you might be needing this, sir." Cody pulled his hand out from behind his back as if keeping some kind of surprise hidden there.

Obi-Wan frowned. "Ah, you mean my lightsabre? Thank you, Cody. I dropped it when I was pursuing Grievous…careless, I know."

"No sir," Replied Cody, holding out what appeared to be a plastiform bag, "It's carryout: order 99. Crispy fried Nerf strips in a Takkini sauce, egg noodles and a portion of seruli dumplings on the side. Compliments of the Chancellor…"

Obi-Wan blinked a few times uncomprehendingly, then decided he felt a sudden urge to contact Master Yoda on Kashyyyk. It wasn't without the bounds of reason that the Chancellor was really the sith lord they'd been looking for in disguise, now trying to kill of the Jedi by poisoning them with a dodgy supply of take-away food…

"Order 99?" Obi-Wan mused for a moment, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "Thank goodness it wasn't order 69…"

* * *

**Wanted (alive preferably)  
**

"Your new here, aren't you?" asked the first storm trooper.

"Yeah, first day on active service." Replied the second.

"How are you liking it so far?"

"Well," the second trooper replied after a slight pause, "There's been lots of explosions and things, so it's been kinda fun."

"Explosions are good." Conceded the first storm trooper.

"And the bit when we burst through the door was very dramatic."

"I thought so too. Very glamorous. Unlike these rebel types." Nodded the first.

"Mind you, that big fellow in black was a bit scary…and this armour is _very_ uncomfortable. What happens if you need to relieve yourself?"

The first trooper thought about it for a moment.

"Just go. Who's going to notice? It's not like we're the ones who have to clean the armour, unless we've done something wrong and we're on punishment…hang, on. I thought I saw something."

"Where?" Trooper two asked.

"Over there in the shadows. Something white. Like a person in a dress."

"It could have been your reflection." Pointed out the second trooper.

"Do I look like I am wearing a dress?" retorted number one. "Not on active service, anyway." He added.

Number two aimed his gun into the darkened recesses of the ship.

"I'm having problems with this blaster thingy." The second trooper sighed audibly.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It keeps jamming. Look, it won't do what I want it to." he complained, pressing at the trigger. "See?"

"A bad trooper always blames his tools." Countered the first.

"I'm just not cut out for this job." Trooper two clutched at the blaster as he fumbled with it, catching the weapon just as it was about to clatter on the ground.

"You _are_ a little clumsy, aren't you?" admitted Trooper one.

"You have no idea. Last week I was on active duty on Coruscant. Managed to run over some damned Gungan with my speeder." Trooper two let his shoulders slump in dismay, tripping over his feet as they continued to walk through the bowels of the ship.

Trooper one suddenly spotted the white object again, a pretty female with her hair coiled round her ears. She managed to get off a shot that felled one of his comrades before he could do anything.

"There's one!" Trooper one shouted calmly. "Set for stun…"

The sound of a single blaster shot from beside him echoed round the metal walls, followed by a loud thud as the white object fell lifelessly to the floor.

"Stun, you idiot! I said stun! Didn't I say stun?"

"Ooops." Trooper two looked at the floor.

Sighing irritably, Trooper one walked over to the female to make certain that she was dead and nudged her with his boot.

"Guess who's going to be cleaning the uniforms for the next five years?" he grumbled.

* * *

**Everyone Likes Presents  
**

Luke sighed. Sometimes it seemed as if he'd spent his entire life sighing without knowing completely why.

He'd sighed whenever Uncle Owen made some excuse to keep him on Tatooine for another year. He'd sighed whenever Cammie or Biggs had teased his silly, floppy haircut - precisely twenty years out of fashion - or when it was his turn to pick mushrooms off the vaporators. He'd sighed when looking across the desert into the fiery binary sunset.

Well, actually he hadn't so much as sighed as gone temporarily blind. Thankfully Threepio had been too polite to ask why he'd been flying across the Judland Wastes in zigzags.

Now, having been rescued by old Ben Kenobi, taking refuge from sand, sun and Tuskens by hiding in the wizard's hovel, Luke found himself sighing again. This time it was in gratitude for the fact Threepio had finally shut up about how coarse and rough sand was, and how it got everywhere…

"No," Luke found himself saying, "My father was a navigator on a Spice freighter. He didn't fight in any wars."

"Ah, yes." Obi-Wan scratched fitfully at his beard. "Well, I'm afraid that in the interest of personal safety there might very well have possibly been a few, er…fibs told you. You see, your father was one of the greatest pilots the galaxy has ever seen. When I first met him I was amazed at how strong the force was with him. So much so that I tried my damnedest to get rid of the little brat at every opportunity. Hell, I even threw myself out of a window to get away from him once but he still found me…" This time Obi-Wan sighed. "Anyhow, against my better judgement and due to a temporary lack of sanity I took it upon myself to train him."

"As what?" Luke frowned.

"You know, I've asked myself that on numerous occasions since it all went hideously wrong." Obi-Wan held up a hand as an admission of guilt. "Hey-ho! Can't be helped, I suppose. Doesn't the long brown robe give you a clue?"

Luke gazed uncertainly at Obi-Wan. "A Jawa?"

"A _Jedi_!" Kenobi sounded quite cross. "I was once a Jedi Knight the same as your father. Until he messed it all up for everyone…ranting about the darkside, strangling people and showing off his sith eyes. Posing around in black leather, waving a fancy red lightsabre about the place! Which reminds me," Obi-Wan broke into a happy smile, clearly moved by his remembrances, "I have something here for you."

"Presents!" Luke exclaimed delightedly. "I love presents! I haven't had a present since the day Uncle Owen made me that sandpit for my second birthday…"

His father had been a Jedi! And according to Ben a great one at that! He rubbed his hands in glee. It sounded so exciting! Then again, anything was exciting compared to Tatooine. When you'd seen one grain of sand you'd seen them all. He remembered the time Uncle Owen had tried to get him to go to sleep by getting him to count the grains.

It had kept both of them awake for two nights.

"I wish I'd known him." Luke sighed for the umpteenth time. "My father, I mean."

"Can't think why. He was ghastly." Came back Obi-Wan's gruff reply.

"How did he die?"

Obi-Wan's brows drew in on themselves. "Horribly." He opted for after a moment's thought.

"Is that it?"

"You want _more_? Bloodthirsty little devil, aren't you?" The older man observed. "Well, it's like this. He turned to the darkside. I turned to drink. Have to admit that I got the better deal there, to be honest."

Obi-Wan stood up and hobbled over towards what appeared to be a large trunk at the far end of the room, Luke following his laboured limping with compassion for an older and wiser battle-scarred veteran.

"Are you hurt, Ben?" He asked sympathetically. "An old Jedi war wound, perhaps?"

"I'm not hurt. Just drunk." Obi-Wan grunted, holding his head as he bent down towards the trunk. "You don't think I've spent the last nineteen years stuck in here meditating, do you? Who needs space travel? With a bottle of Cutlass Ale you can see all the stars you want without leaving the comfort of your living room…"

Luke watched as Obi-Wan opened the trunk, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"What's that dreadful smell?" He asked, gagging.

Obi-Wan sniffed the air. "It's me, most likely. I haven't taken a bath since oh, before you were born. There's no spare water on this damned planet. Anyhow, here it is." He patted the side of the trunk. "Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough…least he would have done if he wasn't writhing in agony. I picked it up off the volcanic shores of Mustafar after we had that slight difference in opinions. "

"What is it?"

Obi-Wan stood up, grinning. "His arm!"

The blood ran from Luke's face, as Obi-Wan elaborated his tale.

"I knew this would come in handy! You said you wanted to get to know your father a bit better: well, now's your chance to carry a little bit of him with you wherever you go." He waved the offending body part over the side of the trunk as if working some child's puppet.

"Are you some kind of weird crazy serial killer?" Luke felt obliged to ask. "What kind of master chops up his apprentice and keeps his severed limbs in a trunk?"

"One in desperate need of a drink." Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes twinkling. "By the way," Kenobi thumbed his nose conspiratorially at Luke, "Keep hold of the arm. I think you might be needing it in the near future…"

* * *

**There is Another…  
**

Cold.

The only good thing about being a degree or so from freezing to death, Luke thought bleakly as he slumped forward in an untidy, crumpled heap was that it numbed the pain. His face stung from the Wampa attack; it's claws having raked across his flesh in jagged gouges. The last time his cheeks had burned like that had been when Leia had slapped him for complimenting her 'nice buns'…

Han had told him it was a complement on Alderaan, but judging by Leia's extreme reaction he wasn't so certain.

He tried to keep going but it was physically impossible. A few more minutes and he would surely freeze…but Luke was no longer certain he cared. His life was slowly beginning to flash before him - or at least the edited highlights. And they hadn't been up to much if he was honest. Burning suns, stuffy air and coarse, rough sand. Picking mushrooms from the vaporators. Getting drunk and having his wicked way with Cammie in the back of an antiquated speeder…

No, wait. That had been a dream. Either that or it was Biggs' life that was flashing before him, not his own.

Considering his informative years had been spent on the most boring, baking hot, backwater planet in the galaxy Luke had to admit there was a certain irony in his dying on the most boring, cold, backwater planet in existence. His life hadn't exactly improved much for all that he was a hero of the rebellion. See what his fame and good conduct medals had done for him? A bad haircut, no love life and an allergy to Wookiee fur!

Luke decided it was just too depressing to dwell on and thought it was about time he just gave up and died. Would anyone miss him, he wondered? Han might, especially given the tremendous amounts of money that Luke owed him in gambling debts. Leia would surely feel something at his passing.

Probably Han.

"Ben!" Luke called out, not exactly knowing why. It wasn't as if he had a direct line to Obi-Wan since the old Jedi had been slain, although the man did have an annoying habit of popping up in his mind whenever he least expected it. Like that time he had been trying - unsuccessfully - to chat up the communications officer. She'd been politeness itself but had declined Luke's advances on the account of 'ghostly voyeurism' not being her thing…three being a crowd, and all that. When he'd complained to Obi-Wan that his spying on him was doing nothing for his love life, old Ben had replied that his own love life had taken a downward spiral since he'd become one with the force, so how did he think he felt?

"Luke!" The ghostly voice echoed, this time not so much in his head but all around him in the snowdrifts. "Luke!"

"Ben?" Luke croaked incredulously through his frozen lips, managing to raise his head a few inches, enough to allow him to see the spectral figure before him. "Is that really you? But you're…your all shimmery and blue!"

"Of course I'm blue!" Obi-Wan stamped his feet and pretended to shiver. "It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a Bantha!" He stopped his theatrics for a moment as if searching for something to say. "Oh, yes…I nearly forgot. You will go to the Dagobah system…"

"The where?"

"Dagobah!" Obi-Wan glared. "There you will learn from Yoda."

"Who?"

"Yoda!" Kenobi rolled his eyes. "The Jedi master who instructed me."

"I thought you told me that Qui-Gon Jinn instructed you?" Luke somehow summoned up the necessary energy for a frown.

"Stop being so damned picky! Just go to Dagobah and do what you're told. I don't know what it is with you Skywalkers…I must have 'idiot' tattooed on my forehead." Obi-Wan placed his hands menacingly on his hips. "Train the boy…watch over the boy. He is the chosen one…that boy is our last hope…" He mimicked, rolling his spectral eyes. "Hang on a moment…what was that?"

Luke stared as Obi-Wan cupped a hand to his ear as if hearing some kind of message from far, far away.

"He's _not_ our only hope? There is _another?"_ He looked down at Luke, stretching his hand vainly towards him in the snow. "Oh, well in that case…I'll be going then."

And with that Obi-Wan vanished into thin air, right before Luke's eyes.

* * *

**A Four legged friend  
**

It was cold. Colder than any temperature Han Solo had ever experienced before. His fingers, supposedly protected from the elements within his thermal gloves could barely move through stiffness and the biting, blistering chill of the ice planet Hoth. But his own pain was not important: not when there was so much at stake.

His tauntaun was failing. He could hear the near-death rattle whirring inside it's throat: all strength and energy spent. Continuously the cruel winds whipped against his face, stinging his exposed flesh with the ferocity of a thousand red-hot needles.

And at his feet lay his friend, Luke, whom he had battled the elements to find.

Against all the odds he had found him, but then Corellians never had much time for odds. Had he done it to look good in front of Leia? Was it selflessness that had caused him to put his life on the line? To risk the death of his tauntaun? Just for Luke? As he was pondering this seemingly futile and heroic gesture the creature fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud, the gurgling in its throat signalling its dying moments.

Han looked from the tauntaun to the prone figure of Luke. If he could just get the shelter up then perhaps they would stand a chance. And until then?

"Not much time…" Han murmured more to reassure himself than anyone else who might be listening. He picked up Luke's lightsabre and thumbed the control: the blue column of light searing through the glistening Hoth evening like a hot knife through Nerf's cheese. For a moment Han hesitated, the Jedi weapon feeling uncomfortable in his grasp. He didn't know if he could do this…it wasn't that he was squeamish yet somehow the idea of evisceration made him flinch.

But Luke would understand, even if the smell wasn't pleasant…

Spurred on by this thought, Han slashed down with the lightsabre and split open Luke's body in a neat line that dissected him from crotch to sternum.

It wasn't much, Han thought as he dragged the barely breathing tauntaun over to Skywalker's carcass, but it would do until he put the shelter up.

The things one did for ones friends, four legged or otherwise…

* * *

**The Course Of True Love  
**

For one of the few times in her life Leia didn't know what to think.

There were people depending on her - on _them_ - to do their job as quickly and painlessly as possible just to give them a fighting chance against the second Death Star. People like Ackbar and Mon Mothma…like Lando and Wedge. Every moment wasted could jeopardise the entire mission to destroy the shield generator on Endor…and here she was, stuck in a miniature novelty teddy bear's village wearing a long dress, with her normally tightly braided hair lying loose against her shoulders. She was so far removed from the feisty, embittered Princess Organa that Leia wasn't sure she could ever be that person again.

One person chiefly was responsible. A braggart, a scoundrel and a pirate. And Leia knew above all things, even above the rebellion itself, that she loved Han Solo. Her year without him had been almost intolerable. As the rebel leaders plotted and schemed, Leia and Luke had drawn up their own plans to snatch Han from the jaws of hell itself; entombed in his carbonite prison within the lair of the evil Jabba the Hutt.

And as for that metal bikini, thank the force that Han had still been blind…or at least too polite to mention it. The indignities one suffered for the one you loved!

The Ewoks had been excitedly chittering away for some time now. Leia had to admit that she rather liked them: they were brave, quirky and rather sweet (not that she'd admit so to Han) and quite clearly spoiling for a chance to get back at the Imperial invaders. Perhaps they would be able to recruit them? Short help was better than no help, after all.

Wicket pulled on the fringe of her dress and gestured her out onto the tree house platform.

A large furry tide of little beings stood in line with their plates and knives in hand and, not knowing any better, Leia stood at the back of the queue hoping that enlightenment might strike her.

"Your Highness!" A voice hailed her from behind her.

Leia span around, finding herself face to face with Threepio.

"Oh, thank goodness you are here!" The droid almost wilted with relief. "We were all so worried about you!"

"Threepio, what's going on here?" Leia demanded, indicating the Ewok tribe. "Do you understand them?"

"Why, yes!" Threepio looked surprised. "I am fluent in over six million forms of communication…well, six million and one if you include those rude triple glazing salesmen we encountered last year. It appears that these creatures think that I am a god. You are a welcome royal guest under their protection."

Wicket, standing on his tiptoes, thrust a metallic plate into Leia's hands, filled with meat and salad. He then wandered off to find a large glass of mulled berry wine as a suitable offering for their distinguished guests. Leia frowned at Threepio for a moment, picking idly at her teeth a wooden fork.

"What happened to Luke and Han?" She wondered. "And what about Artoo? Have you seen him?"

Threepio seemed to shrink further into himself.

"Oh, dear. Poor little Artoo." He sighed miserably. "I'm afraid that he proved most defensive towards our hosts and so they dismantled him with a large wooden club. You're using his head dome as a plate."

Leia looked down in horror at the metal object in her hands and very nearly dropped what was left of Artoo's head onto the ground.

"Master Luke tried to explain that I would use my godly powers and show them my wrath if they didn't stop attacking poor Artoo, and tried to levitate me into the air. But I'm afraid levitation was never really Master Luke's strong point…"

Leia swallowed, the lump in her throat suddenly extremely large and heavy.

"What happened to him?" She demanded once more. "And where's Han?"

Threepio paused.

"Why, Mistress Leia, I do believe you are eating him. But do not distress yourself. I have often heard it said that the course of true love never ran smoothly. Or in this case, the main course of true love…"

* * *

**The Rogue Squadron Talent Contest**

Wedge Antilles posed in front of the mirror. Timing would be everything. He couldn't afford to mess up. He and rogue squadron had been practicing in secret for well over two weeks for the big event.

"Are you sure about this, boss?" Asked Janson hesitantly. "There's going to be an awful lot of people out there...all that staring can be mighty, well, distracting."

Wedge looked his friend up and down. "Of course we can do this. Think Corellian." He went back to the mirror.

"I believe in miracles, since you came along...you sexy thing." He purred.

"Pardon, boss?"

"Not you! It's the words of the song!"

"Oh!" Janson said nonplussed. He watched as Antilles smoothed his hair back. "You can leave your hat on..." He crooned.

"Boss, I don't want to do this!"

"What? You don't want to do the full Monty in front of all these people? Son, Rogue squadron is depending on you!"

"Then why are you nicknamed horse, and I'm called shrimp?" Janson wailed.

"Don't worry." Antilles smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember at the end to place your helmet over your bits and pieces something lively, and you'll be fine."

"But I've been working on another act!" Janson said enthusiastically. "Here, let me show you boss!"

Antilles frowned as Janson whipped a large, glittery cloth from off a knife throwers wheel, with a live Ewok strapped to it.

"I've been practicing very hard." Janson said, placing the blindfold over his eyes and fingering the knives carefully.

"Could you spin the wheel?"

Antilles stepped forward and gave the wheel a push with his hand. The Ewok made terrified little squeals as it went round, and round, and round...

"Stand back, boss!" Janson said enthusiastically, as he hurled the knife at the wheel.

There was a sickening squelch.

"Boss?" Janson asked nervously, "Wwwhat happened?"

Antilles walked over to the deceased Ewok with the knife embedded in its chest.

"Good shot, Janson." He said.


End file.
